Something Is Burning
by McGrizzle
Summary: (Birthday Fic) This was supposed to be serious, but it just got super cheesy so I tried to turn it into a comedy. Thing. Jeeeeez. Happy birthday, Libby.


Something is burning.

It's subtle at first, but slowly the wisps of smoke and faint traces of burning silk coax you from your recuperacoon and onto the floor; groggy, soggy, and extremely sour. Aurthour is braying nervously from the window, and you saunter over with all the carelessness of a troll who has just woken. The flames are punctuated by the pitch black sky, and for a moment you take some enjoyment in the slow destruction of someone else's hive. Then your brain turns on.

Aurthour makes a move, but is too slow to stop the jump.

 _What the hell is she doing?  
_

* * *

As you approach the blazing hive, the shouts start floating in on the smoky breeze. You weren't aware that she would be having guests over. Perhaps they would be able to handle this conflagration themselves? Thoughts like these are the ones racing through your head as you burst into the foyer of her hive, and the trail of dead bodies leads you to a much more worrying conclusion. A surge of urgency pushes through your muscles, causing you to take the stairs by bounds as the shouts become clearer.

Her distress rings truer through all of the noise.

You burst through onto a balcony overlooking Spidermom's canyon. There she lies, back against the railing, cobalt sword coated in shades of crimson, bronze and even dark gold and held menacingly in front of her. Standing between you and her, a horde of lowbloods, all rallied behind three or four flags you recognize as FLARP in origin. They shout insults and hurl slime, but are reluctant to approach; evidence of prior attempts lie strewn around her in a half crescent. She is breathing heavily, and careful inspection reveals a handful of medium lacerations coating her visible skin. Her jaw is set in grim determination, and her eyes dart about furtively for any sign of weakness among the crowd.

Suddenly her eye gives the familiar flash you know all too well, and one of the lowbloods gives a bloodcurdling screech and turns on his allies. They fall upon him in an instant, and in the chaos an arrow is loosed and thuds squarely into her sword arm. This elicits a pained wail from her, and before you can think your muscles are galvanized into action. The two nearest bodies are hurled through the ranks directly over the precipice. Spidermom purrs happily from below, and the one who survived the fall is unfortunately the first to meet his fate. A murmur runs through the crowd as they turn to you, fear and hatred together running through their eyes. This fear turns to overconfidence as they can see your unarmed hands through the blackened tendrils of smoke. The two or three who dared to ignore you and turn back to the original quarry would have noticed that Vriska had faded into the thickening smog. She was in no way looking to be a part of this massacre.

They fly at you blindly, meaning to overwhelm you with force and numbers. Through your shaded glasses you see no trolls, you see robots. These robots, however, approach with no calculated murder, with no programmed cleverness, but with a clumsy idiocy reserved only for the basest classes. Your temper flares as they dare to challenge you. One by one, five by five, ten by ten, you rid their corpses from blue-blooded property. This is the order of things. As you approach the ringleader, a hand grips your shoulder with a familiar warmness. You whirl about, thankful to see her trademark grin plastered on her face.

"Woah there 8ig guy, no need to annihil8 this one just yet. 8esides, if you send him over the ledge, we'll miss out on his sick loot!" You blink as the bloody haze clears from your mind and is replaced by the billowing blackness pouring out of the structure.

"Sick 100t?" She chuckles.

"Nevermind. Just let me handle this one, mkay?" You nod, giving her arm a worried look-over as you walk away. Thin and lithe, her arm swings the longsword around like a plaything even with an arrow lodged firmly in its work. It looks graceful in combat and idle, and you can't help but admire the masterwork she has made her arm out to be. A near irreplaceable tool. You calmly step into her burning respiteblock, ignoring the pleas of mercy that eventually turn into shrill shrieks, and open her laptop. Seated from here, you proceed to hack into your own network and gain access to your own fleet of robots, which you then give a simple series of commands to the effect of dousing the fire running rampant through this house. While you are in the process of completing this task, Vriska struts into the room lazily, draping herself across your lap as if she weren't bleeding out.

"Well, if it isn't my Cavalreaper in shining armor himself! Just whatever are you doing on my laptop?"

"Saving your hive." You roll your eyes. It's hard to tell if she's Mindfang or Vriska right now.

"I assure you that 8rowsing my folders will not…" A distant whirring sound coupled with dozens of splashes gave Vriska a small idea of what was going on. "You never cease to surprise me, shades." She winces as you shift slightly, brushing the arrow deeper into her arm. It grabs your attention, and you close the laptop with one hand while hoisting her onto your shoulder with the other. She fails to resist, and you take her to the kitchen where you've patched her up time and time again. "I don't suppose you came over looking for sugar, neigh8or?"

"Vriska, you know that I always have ampl-"

"It was a joke, Equius. Seriously, don't you ever enjoy yourself?" You run your hands over the arm, now arrow-free, with water and soap. The caked blood flakes off and reveals the pale gray skin that always seems to have a luster compared to other members of your race.

"Not in the way that you do, Vriska. These games will be the death of you." She only chuckles, brushing off the danger she had only minutes prior been in.

"I'm going to be fine, Equi-"

"This is the eighth time this month, Vriska-!" You pause, your eyes locking with hers momentarily. It can't be. Her smile unfolds itself again, staring you directly in the face. Was all of this an elaborate trap? You wouldn't put it past her. Had danger not been present, you would more likely than not have stayed holed up in your hive. She drew you out into her web, she watched you struggle, and now she moves for the kill. You forgot her wriggling day.

"You know what that means. Time to pony up on that wager we had."

* * *

Something is burning.

It's your cheeks. No, your entire face, flushed with that deep indigo color that betrays your caste. Sweat pours down your shivering frame, more from nerves than exertion. Servicing a lower member in this way is so inconceivable, so downright perverted, that it flusters you beyond belief. No one has ever ridden you before, but Vriska somehow assured it would be enjoyable for both parties. You can barely see on account of the coat draped over your face, and her scent invades your senses and clouds your mind. You are unable to be angry with her; there is no back-stabbing, blue-blooded scheming to be had here. Besides, it only brings you one step closer…. Somewhere below you on the ground, you hear multiple light patters.

"I roll a crit! My mount and I are empowered for the next eight turns! :::;D" She cracks a whip somewhere, and you run in the direction she steers you, chasing down some poor unfortunate fool who can't stop laughing at the most comedic, deadly combo in all of Alternia. You pray that anyone who comes across you is loaded enough for Vriska to deem worthy to kill. Speaking of the devil, she leans down and whispers into your ear, "Why is my mount so quiet? Last I checked, horses are supposed to make horsey noises!"

Something indeed is burning.


End file.
